Bring the Shiraz
by cls2256
Summary: After her recent divorce, Hermione Granger isn't jumping at the chance to celebrate Valentine 's Day— that is, until the Minister for Magic invites her over for dinner


Valentine's day.

Love was in the air.

Wizarding London's street lamps were decorated with wreaths of red, pink and white roses, enchanted to withstand the crisp February air. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was selling love potions for 50% off. Florean Fortescue's had an exclusive 'love potion-flavored' ice cream, and the Ministry of Magic atrium had pixies flying about, carrying cupid bows and arrows, shooting at random passersby. Everyone seemed to be in the loving spirit— everyone, except Hermione Granger.

Recently divorced, this would be the first Valentine's she had spent as a single woman in her adult life. She and Ron had signed their divorce papers 6 months ago, and albeit that it was an amicable divorce, she wasn't jumping at the chance to gain herself a sweetheart for cupid's holiday.

Her heels clacked against the black tile floor as she made her way to the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. The Minister specifically requested she stop by his office at the end of today, but his memo lacked what he wanted to speak with her about. Had she made a mistake on the monthly reports? Was he dissatisfied with her performance at work? She was a work-a-holic ever since she and Ron had divorced. Surely the extra hours she'd clocked weren't hurting her performance— or were they?

A brass knocker was situated two-thirds of the way up the door to the Minister's office. She grabbed ahold of the knocker and rapped three times, then waited.

The door swung open a moment later; Kingsley was at his desk, hunched over a large pile of papers. His wand was still in the air, his gaze focused on the file in front of him. Hermione slipped inside the office, gently closing the door behind her.

"Good Afternoon, Minister," She said, "You requested to see me?"

Kingsley looked up abruptly, his expression softening as he stowed his wand.

"Hermione, yes, thank you for coming by," he said, "I apologize; I was distracted by this mountain of paperwork that never seems to diminish."

Kingsley's natural smile made her stomach roll. The Minister for Magic was handsome, charismatic— he'd always had a way of making Hermione feel slightly nervous in his presence, even back when they fighting in the war. She hadn't forgotten how rock hard his ab muscles were, as she had clung to him for dear life on the back of a thestral the night they moved Harry from the Dursley's.

"No matter, I'm sure you're busy," she said with a small smile. "What can I do for you, Minister?"

He leaned back in his desk chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "Do you have any plans this evening?"

"For Valentine's day?" she asked incredulously. Kingsley nodded. "Just sitting on my couch with a book and a bottle of Shiraz," she chuckled softly, relaxing her shoulders "Ron has the kids this week."

"Well, I myself have no plans for Valentine's day, either," Kingsley rose from his chair and stepped around the front of his desk, only to lean back against it. "Would you like to stand up your bottle of Shiraz and join me for dinner tonight? I'll order in the best French food in London."

"You don't have to take pity on me—"Hermione laughed "This is just a Hallmark holiday, anyhow."

"You don't need my pity;" Kingsley said, his easy smile returning, "I would never dream of pitying you, Hermione Granger." His dark eyes twinkled at her "My house, 7:30. Bring your bottle of Shiraz if you are so worried about it being upset with you."

"Alright," she said, her cheeks turning a twinge of pink "Your place, 7:30."

Kingsley nodded and escorted her out of his office. His fingertips brushing the small of her back as she exited through the threshold.

* * *

Merlin, Hermione— it's just dinner. Just pick something out!

She had half her closet pulled out, agonizing over what to wear. Should she wear traditional robes? Should she wear business formal— maybe this was a work dinner? Should she wear a cocktail dress? She didn't know why she was agonizing over simply what to dress in. It was just dinner.

The truth was, ever since he had asked her to join him for dinner this evening, her notice of his chiseled features and basso profundo voice amplified. She had ignored how their interactions became a little more casual once she became a single woman, how his fingertips would always brush against the small of her back when he would escort her out of his office, or how easy-going his smile was around her.

She had been married ten years; ten years to the man she thought was the love of her life, the man who gave her two beautiful children. She loved Ron still— she really did. She loved him in a way she hadn't loved anyone— but she was no longer in love with him.

He had felt it too. In the last couple of years of their marriage, they both felt the distance growing between them, but they had tried to stick it out for the kids. The day she came home to find the house quiet, and Ron sitting somberly at the dining table, was forever engrained into her memory.

"Where are the kids?" Hermione asked

"At Mum's, I asked her to take them for the night," Ron said, looking to her with a heavy expression. "This isn't working 'Mione. You and I both know this hasn't worked in a long time."

She never expected Ron to be the one to call it quits; she always assumed if they were to split, she would be the one to do it, and out of her stubbornness, she hadn't thrown in the towel yet. Their divorce was clean, with no hard feelings, but some nights that still didn't make it easy.

She chose a black cocktail dress, for she was a mother and she rarely got a chance to dress up anymore. She slicked her hair straight with Sleek-eeze potion and knotted it back into a neat chignon. A little bit of red lipstick, mascara, and a touch of eyeliner made her feel sophisticated— sexy. Was it too much? Should she change? She glanced at the clock. Too late to change; if she didn't leave now, she would be late, and it would be rude to keep the Minister for Magic waiting.

She slipped on a pair of black heels and a cream-colored pea coat, grabbing her bottle of Shiraz to take with her. It was only polite to bring something, right?

Kingsley's house was well landscaped. The hedges were perfectly trimmed, and his flowerbeds were lined neatly with short walls of tumbled stone pavers. His front porch was sprawling, his front door painted a deep maroon, pairing nicely with beige siding. She found it a little curious that the Minister for Magic would live in a muggle neighborhood, but she assumed that he most likely got more privacy here, where his neighbors did not know him.

Kingsley opened the door. "Right on time," he said, "Please, come in."

He was dressed in a handsome set of dark green robes, embroidered with gold stitching. He smelled even better than he looked; his mahogany and teakwood cologne wafting into Hermione's nostrils as he helped her out of her coat.

"You look stunning this evening—" He said, "—and I see you brought the Shiraz with you."

"I figured it polite to bring something," Hermione said, her cheeks turning a twinge of pink.

He led her through the foyer and into the Great Room, where the table was set with fine china and crystal candlesticks. Soft jazz music played from a record player in the living room, and the lights were dimmed to a smooth, yellow glow.

"Dinner smells wonderful," Hermione said, "What are we having?"

"Coq au vin," Kingsley said, flicking his wand to uncork the bottle of wine. "With Crème Brule for dessert— please, sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Hermione slid into one of Kingsley's oak dining chairs; this china was more delicate than anything she had ever eaten off of, and she was sure the candlestick holders and wine glasses were genuine crystal.

"Minister, you didn't have to go to all this trouble…" she began

"Kingsley—"he corrected. He leaned over her and poured her a generous glass of wine, leaning in close enough to catch another heavenly whiff of his cologne. "This is nothing; I picked up the meal from my favorite French restaurant, Le Gavroche, and I am always looking for an excuse to pull out the fine china…"

Kingsley fixed him and Hermione's plate of coq au vin and sat down across from her. They started the meal off with some small talk about work, light-hearted conversations for most of the meal. They started throwing around humor and jokes as the wine settled in— Kingsley had refilled her wine glass twice, but she didn't mind. After dinner, Hermione insisted on cleaning up.

"I wouldn't dream of asking my dinner guest to do the dishes," Kingsley said, "Please, allow me."

"No, no," Hermione said, " I insist. You can serve us dessert; I will take care of these plates."

As Hermione stood over the sink and washed plates, she flinched slightly when she felt Kingsley's large hands on her waist.

"You really do look lovely tonight, Hermione." He purred in her ear.

She instinctively leaned into him, her skin breaking into goosebumps as his warm breath hit her neck.

"Kingsley…" Hermione said, but he held a hand up to silence her.

"Have you been touched since your marriage ended? Been kissed? Been told how beautiful you are?" he asked, running a hand now up to her bare arm to her neck. "How long has it been?"

"No, I haven't— haven't been—" Her breathing hitched as his hand brushed against her neck whisper-soft; she didn't realize how much she actually wanted Kingsley until now. "—it's been a long time."

"Then let me tell you how beautiful you are, let me kiss you, touch you like a beautiful witch as yourself should be…"

"I—"she leaned back into him further "I'm not looking for anything with strings; I'm still figuring out who I am after this divorce—"

"No strings;" he said breathlessly, in her ear. "No commitment. Just two people enjoying their evening after a pleasant dinner."

He fingered the hem of her dress, pulling it upward painstakingly slow. Hermione let out a sigh as Kingsley kissed her neck gently.

"What about dessert?" she asked suddenly.

"It can wait a few minutes."

Her skirt was now pulled up to her waist, revealing her lace panties. Kingsley traced the edge of the front waistband with his index finger. Hermione felt heat grow between her legs; she really wanted this, wanted him.

"Just say the word," he whispered, "say yes."

"Yes."

Kingsley spun her around and crashed his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up, carrying her off to the bedroom as they snogged. He set her down, pinning her hips against the dresser as he unzipped her dress and pushed it to the floor.

"I've wanted you for some time now, Hermione," he growled in her ear, looking into her eyes through the reflection of the dresser mirror. "You've had no idea."

He unhooked her bra, tossing it to the side and then cupping the swell, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.

"Beautiful…" he purred.

His robes were shed quickly, pooling in a pile at their feet. Kingsley was even more magnificent naked than Hermione could've imagined. His muscles looked like they were chiseled out of stone, rolling and flexing as he moved.

He pushed her back onto the bed. There was a mirror on the ceiling; Hermione watched as Kingsley's hands roamed over her, as he kissed her neck, breasts and trailed down to her lacy panties.

"Do you like the mirror?" he asked, hooking his fingers around her panties. "You like seeing yourself spread out for me?

"I do," she said breathlessly. It was incredibly erotic watching him kiss her, touch her.

"Watch yourself— I want you to watch me pleasure you."

He discarded her panties and spread her legs, kissing her mound before gently spreading her lips and lapping her clit. Hermione gasped, arching her back. She watched in the mirror. His head was positioned between her legs, and his hands roved over her stomach and breasts. It had been so long since she had been touched there, and Kingsley sure knew how to make her feel good.

She felt herself growing so wet she was sure she would soak the sheets. The pressure building inside her was aching; she fisted the sheets so tight her knuckles were white, her back arching violently.

"I'm going to come, oh fuck !—"

She came with a fire-y explosion from her core, pushing herself against his face as her orgasm rippled through her. Kingsley chuckled as he propped himself up on his elbows, wiping his bottom lip.

"Sounds like you needed that."

"Ohmygod," she breathed. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence she was in complete bliss. Kingsley took his time kissing her entire body as she came down from her high, rolling her onto her stomach and yanking her butt into the air. He pushed his thick cock into her; she let out a sharp cry,

"Fuck," he growled, sinking as far into her as he could. "You feel wonderful."

He gripped her hips tightly, pounding her in and out hard. The pleasurable pressure began to build up inside her again, begging for another release.

"Say my name," he commanded.

"Kingsley!"

"Again."

"Kingsley!"

"Again!"

" Kingsley!"

Her moans were growing more urgent, the harder he pounded. She was aching with pleasure; so close, so close, so close…

"That's it, "he crooned, "come for me again, Hermione."

She shattered into a million pieces, her walls clamping down over Kingsley's thick member. After a few more strokes, he grunted and squeezed himself against her, finishing with heavy panting.

"Fuck, that was amazing," he panted "You are amazing."

He pulled out, and they both flopped onto their backs, breathing heavily and looking at each other in the ceiling mirror.

"I don't want anything serious, no strings;" Hermione said breathlessly, "But I want to do this again."

Kingsley chuckled "absolutely— next time the kids are with Ron? I'll pick up Italian…"

"We trade off every other week, how about Friday, two weeks from now?" she said, "I'll bring a Riesling."

"I'll pencil you in my calendar,"

Kingsley rolled onto his side, smirking at her.

"Now, how about some Crème Brule?"


End file.
